Page 64 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“I am too tired for Plautus this evening, Fitzwilliam. I would sooner speak hog Latin as I did as a child than torture the Latin of the Romans.”

I leant my head on his shoulder and promptly fell asleep—well, I must have done, for I have no memory, only a dream, of him gently picking me up—as he had done so many times before—and carrying me to my chamber, where Sally, bless her, helped me undress.

* * *

Chapter 25

Pemberley

I had thought that our time in the Lakes would be my strongest memory of those early days in the North, but the week with Lady Catherine, the Crawleys, and the Hursts at Pemberley stands out in that peculiar way—like when you fall and graze your knee, and are forced to drink Mr. Jones the apothecary’s bitter tonic, yet go to bed singing because, in spite of everything, you find the day quite remarkable.

I had expected Miss Crawley to launch yet another assault on Fitzwilliam—who could resist, when staying in the same house, eating at the same table, in his company each evening after dinner?

The household and estate were restored to order, and I decided I had the time to visit Lady Ann’s rose garden. Miss Crawley, seeing me put on my bonnet and shawl, asked if she might accompany me. Of course I agreed, and we set off along the gravelled path towards the gardens.

“I wish to apologise, Miss Elizabeth, for my behaviour when we were at dinner a few weeks past.”

We were admiring the Quatre Saisons rose that had just come back into bloom. “Miss Crawley, I do not remember you acting with anything but decorum and propriety. You certainly do not have anything to apologise for.”

“Oh, but I do. I was so forward with Mr. Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy? But you hardly spoke to him.”

“No, no. His son, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“All I recall was that you and he had a lively discussion. Horse riding. And those entertainments he enjoyed of an evening—surely there is nothing improper about that?”

“B—but I have realised that you and he had an understanding.”

I halted, flushed, and turned to her in amazement. “I cannot take your meaning. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and I have an understanding?”

“B—but the accomplishments he allowed—why, I know of only one woman who possesses even half of them.”

What could I say? This was so dreadfully awkward; yet Miss Crawley spoke with such sincerity, I could hardly doubt her.

“I have been told, Miss Crawley, that I overthink—certainly you are doing the same. Come, we all have a knowledge of music—indeed, you performed very well that evening—you sing, no doubt draw, and dance.”

There was a long pause, and we continued to stroll along the paths among the roses.

“I am known for being forthright,” said Miss Crawley after a time. “If we are to venture further down this path, can we not enjoy a slight intimacy? Perchance you could call me Marianne?”

“Yes! And you shall call me Elizabeth, as the household does. When we return to the house, you and Miss Darcy should also become similarly acquainted. Then both Georgiana and I will have another sister.”

“A sister? Are you and Georgiana sisters? I can see some likeness between Mrs. Bennet and Miss Darcy—both tall and fair-haired—but there is little similarity between you and her.”

“Oh, no. We are honorary sisters! It is so much fun. And Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam—is an honorary brother. I am so fortunate, for I never had a brother, nor any younger sisters of my own.”

Miss Crawley—Marianne—gave me a searching look. “Elizabeth, you have a gentle heart, and I wish you no harm. But you must see that Mr. Darcy is not your brother—he is something far, far more.”

“Having never had a brother such as yours, I cannot say. But surely brothers share interests in common with their sisters. Fitzwilliam and I have many common interests, though I admit we were fortunate both of us enjoy the classics, and that my Latin is adequate.” I skipped lightly ahead. “Oh, look! Mama and Mr. Darcy have cultivated a Sweet Briar—’tis my favourite hedgerow plant, and so sweetly scented.”

Marianne smiled, kneeling down to take in the apple-scented foliage. “Do you truly believe, Elizabeth, that Mr. Darcy’s attentions are the mark of mere brotherly affection? Oh, to have such a brother myself!”

I laughed. “Georgiana and I are the luckiest sisters. No, Marianne, you are determined to make a romance of it when there is none. Mr. Darcy senior was a friend of my father, Mr. Bennet. Subsequently, he has been of great assistance to Mrs. Bennet in her bereavement.” Of course, I could not speak to her of the intimate exchange of letters between Papa and Mr. Darcy, of which I was a party, nor the traumatic experience of Wickham’s attempt to abduct Georgiana.

Marianne shook her head. “I wish there were a man who looked at me the way he does you. And the way you speak his name—so quick to defend him. The lady protests too much me thinkes.”

“You would have me marry, Marianne? I am not Ophelia, nor is Darcy Hamlet.”